Last, Best Hope for Humanity
by elissa27
Summary: She's never had anyone to protect her, and he's never been without someone to protect.
1. Painful Realization

Stella's aching stomach woke her from an uneasy sleep. Her once abundant supply of food had finally run out; what had been keeping her alive for almost ten years had been gone now for almost four days. She rose slowly and unsteadily from underneath the disintegrated piece of highway she called home. Her legs ached from the cramped quarters, but that was nothing new. She watched the sun come up over the Washington Monument. The sky was clear. She climbed to the top of the concrete mass to get a better view. Her proximity to downtown DC enabled her to see almost every building in the National Mall. The remains of the Capitol Building peaked up majestically, with the scars of the War blemishing her view.

Her shaky knees nearly made her fall, so Stella climbed back into her little loft, constructed when the highway bridges collapsed as a result of nuclear warfare and neglect. Nestled closely to the base of a steep hill, it was a perfect shelter for an orphan. She was seven years old when she lost her mother to dysentery. They had been roaming from place to place when her mother had fallen ill, dying a few short weeks later. Without a home, Stella crept around at night for nearly four weeks with her mother's few possessions until she found the Cove, the half-affectionate name she had given her home. Its only occupant was a skeleton that she removed swiftly, a reminder that someone else had lived here unsuccessfully. It was sheer luck that she stumbled upon a dank cave that might have once served as someone's bomb shelter. Terrified of caves and darkness in general (moreso of what could be lurking in it), she chose to live in the Cove, but utilized almost all of the supplies from the shelter, especially the food. Now that the food had run out, however, she had to learn how to fend for herself. Her mother had left her a Chinese pistol, an ammo box completely full of 10mm rounds, and a key and a note for a man named Quinn. The ammo was almost untouched and she still had the note and the key. Unread, of course, because her mother had always told her to leave things alone that weren't hers. Not necessarily because it was wrong, but because they would kill you. She didn't know then who "they" were, and now that she was older, she understood more of what her mother was saying-that there wasn't someone designated to come after thieves, but that in this hell, if you stole, you paid with your life. So you didn't steal. Stella expanded that directive to you didn't mess with absolutely anything that wasn't yours. Which is why Stella became a hermit.

After her mother's death, Stella had had absolutely no contact with people. She had tried to make the long trek to Little Lamplight, a sanctuary for orphaned children she had heard of, but she had no way of navigating the Wastes. But now that her food was gone, Stella had to leave her comfortable Cove and look for sustenance. Sitting on the mattress she used for a bed, she began to dress uncertainly for an expedition. She bandaged the sackcloth fabric around herself to protect against the bitter September winds and flatten her breasts, and then pulled on an outfit made from old prewar clothing and dried brahmin skin she had hastily sewn together. She wrapped more fabric around her head and ears, pulling her hair tightly into the wrap. More than anything, Stella wanted to conceal her gender. She would rather be shot dead than caught and raped.

Tucking the Chinese pistol into a makeshift holster that she had sewn into her outfit, Stella grabbed a metal pail and went to the irradiated Potomac River for water. Watching closely for mirelurks, she submerged the pail and filled it with ice cold water. She grabbed a handful and let it run through her fingers, watching the tiny waterfalls slip away back into the bucket. Then she splashed her face, reeling a bit from the shocking jolt of cold water, and drank from the bucket. Stella refilled it and carried it back to the Cove. Then she wrapped her hands in brahmin leather and set out with a huge canvas sack she had crafted the previous evening just for the task of gathering food. She holstered a knife on the bag and headed out. With no navigational skills, a map, a compass, or even any idea of where to go, Stella felt overwhelmed. Climbing unsteadily onto the remaining freeway above her, she could clearly see a huge fort only a short distance away. Assuming it to be filled with radroaches and other edible critters, she started off.


	2. Metalmen and Pointy People

It didn't take long for Stella to reach her destination. Searching the outer walls for an entryway, she heard gunshots, far away at first but getting closer quickly. The fight was coming in her direction, and she knew that running was futile. Stella ducked instinctively, trying to become invisible. Black and red metal things shaped like humans were shooting red laser beams at scantily clad people with pointy hair. The pointy people were screaming profanities and the metal things were talking in almost robotic voices using military jargon. She didn't know if she was visible, but she heard a metalman tell her lay down and cover her head. So she did. The pointy people, she decided, were bad, and the metalmen were good. So she snaked the pistol from its holster and fired a shot into the shoulder of a pointy. He turned, infuriated, and directed his rage in her direction. Panicking, she fired again, hitting his collarbone. He ran towards her with a large metal object that she knew would be the last thing she saw. Stella covered her head and held her breath, wondering what death would feel like. However, when she looked up, the pointy was on the ground near an ashy pile that had once been his head. She fainted.

When Stella finally came to, she was laying in the back of an abandoned truck inside a chainlink fence. Metalmen were standing sparsely around the fence. She sat up, and a metalman approached her.

"What the fuck was that?" the metalman demanded. She surveyed him with curiousity and fear.

"I was... I was trying to help," Stella whispered weakly. There was a hissing sound and she jumped when she thought the metalman was taking off his head. The metalman, however, was just a man.

"You're not helping anyone with being a piss-poor shot with a piss-poor gun," he retorted smartly.

Stella stared at him.

"What? You never seen power armor before?" he snapped.

"I guess not. And I don't know anything about guns. This is the only gun I've ever fired," she said, feeling odd about speaking. Her own voice felt like a stranger's.

"You're feeding 10mm ammo into that thing," he remarked. "You have a lot of that?"

"Yeah, a lot," she echoed. He motioned for her to follow him. He stopped a few yard away, where the battle had just taken place. He stopped for a second, then bent down and picked up a gun off of a dead pointy.

"Here," he said, shoving the gun into her hands. She held it shakily, pretending like she was inspecting it for something. It was relatively small but had a bulky cartridge. "It isn't terribly accurate, but it fires fast and takes the ammo you have."

"Thanks," she murmered.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked.

"Looking for food," Stella said. "Who are you guys?" she finally blurted out.

"We're Outcasts from the Brotherhood of Steel. Over thirty years ago, a rift was caused in the Brotherhood of Steel. Some felt that the presiding Elder had lost the original purpose, to preserve technology. He chose instead to preserve humanity. We are the Outcasts, the ones who chose to leave," he said. "I'm Protector Jeremiah Rockfowl. My father and mother were both original dissenters from the Brotherhood. This is Fort Independence, our headquarters." Protector Rockfowl gestured to the massive fort that Stella had hoped to seek food out in.

"Wow..." Stella commented, most enthralled by having another human talking to her. "Were you fighting the Brotherhood of Steel just then?" Protector Rockfowl laughed.

"No. Those were just raiders, unorganized fucks who love to kill and torture anything that moves. Did you just stumble out of a vault or something?"

"I, uh, I don't think so. My food supply ran out. I've never had to fend for myself."

"If you want food, I'd strongly suggest looting these dead pricks and taking what you can salvage to Megaton, to trade. It's much less dangerous than you walking around like this."

"Where's Megaton?" she asked.

"Not far from here. Follow up this highway, and you'll come up on a big hill that looks over the Mall. You'll be at Vault 101, and from there, Megaton will be straight ahead of you. It's just huge pile of metal and deadbeats. You can't miss it," Protector Rockfowl explained. Stella focused on remembering everything he said. Stella thanked him for all of his help and took what she could, with his assistance, from the raiders.

Stella diligently followed Protector Rockfowl's advice, and was climbing the hill she hoped would reveal Megaton to her. Suddenly she felt overcome with a sense of unshakable nervousness. She checked her perimeters, which were clear, and then hid in a crevice between two boulders. She heard footsteps coming and held her breath, clenching her teeth and waiting for the inevitable crack of gunfire. A large creature mounted a hill. She recognized it as a brahmin. Next to the brahmin were three men, all armed. Stella held her breath again. One of the men, a man wrapped in leather armor, stopped. He turned and pointed his gun at her.

"What are you doing hiding behind a rock?" he asked suspiciously, tracking her with the barrel of his gun.

"I was trying to get to Megaton, to trade," she said, trying to choose her words carefully. "I didn't want to get shot."

The three men watched her uncertainly. Slowly, the armored one lowered his gun. He was young and ruggedly handsome, with short dark hair. Another man wore an outfit adorned with knick-knacks. He had wispy gray hair and had crazy eyes. The other, however, made her nervous. He had patchy hair and skin. Instead of his skin being patchy with color, however, it was patchy with actual patches of skin. He looked like he was rotting. He was dressed similarly to the gray haired man, with a dark jacket and worn out denim pants. His yellowing eyes were watching her intently, and he immeadiately knew what dance she was doing in her mind. His companion spoke first, however.

"Welcome, sir or madam. I apologize for my mercenary. He can be quite brutal. What can I, the craziest of all possible Wolfgangs, do for you today?" The gray haired man shouted. This explained the crazy eyes.

"I'm heading to Megaton to trade," she repeated slowly.

"It is your lucky day! I am Crazy Wolfgang, owner and proprietor of Crazy Wolfgang's Caravan Emporium. You can trade with me!" he exclaimed, as though she should feel honored. She held out her arms that were laden with the loot from the raiders. He looked through everything and nodded. Then he grabbed a small bag and filled it with bottlecaps. He handed them to her.

"What can I do with these?" she asked, shaking the bag. The men laughed in unison, making her feel naive.

"Those are your keys to happiness! That is the unofficial official currency of the Capital Wasteland!" Crazy Wolfgang told her.

"How do you not know that?" asked the rotting man.

"I've been living alone for ten years. I haven't spoken to anyone in ten years, until today. _Ten years_," she repeated for emphasis. They all relaxed a little. She began to get angry. "I've had guns in my face today, I've left my home, I haven't eaten in four days, and all I want to do is be alone again!" she shouted. "I've met men that I thought were robots and people who tried to kill me for no reason! There are dead people walking around and I don't know where I am!"

"Okay, let me explain myself," the rotting man began. "I'm a Ghoul. We're humans who have been exposed to large amount of radioactive roentgens for long periods of time. Instead of killing us, it slowly rots us alive," he explained slowly, watching for her reaction. She calmed down and looked at him sympathetically.

"I'm sorry I said that," she apologized.

"It's okay," the Ghoul said. "Sounds like you've had a rough day."

She nodded, and then changed the subject back to his condition.

"So it's like a non-lethal case of permanant radiation sickness?"

"Yeah, something like that. The majority of Ghouls in the Capital Wastes live in Underworld. I'm basically the pack mule for Underworld; they send me out with caps and I bring them back supplies. The name's Quinn, by the way."


	3. Borrowed Time

"Nice to meet you, Quinn," Stella said. Wait, Quinn? Could this be...? She hurried to gather her thoughts, as if the opportunity to ask this question would suddenly disappear.

"Quinn... did you ever know a woman named Marie? Marie McGovern. I'm her daughter, Stella," His eyes darted to her quickly and he stopped short.

"Where is she? Is she okay?" he asked hurriedly.

"Her?" Stella asked, astounded. "Oh, no, she passed away over ten years ago. She got dysentery." Stella said.

"And you are her daughter. Holy fucking shit. Did she ever talk about me? She had to have, for you to know that I knew her."

"No... well, not until she died anyway. She left something, a key and a note, for a man named Quinn. She was telling me something about it when she finally passed, but I don't remember what. Her voice was so weak, I could barely understand her when she spoke. I just wanted her to save her breath."

"Do you still have it? Where is it?"

"At my home."

"Can we go?" he asked impatiently.

"Of course," she said, although she was apprehensive. This was her home, and no one in ten years had ever stumbled upon it. This was all a massive shock to her comfort zone. But she knew she could never abandon the chance to fulfill her mother's dying wish. "But I need to eat something first."

"Certainly, certainly. We're not far from Megaton at all. We could duck inside and eat for a minute, then head toward your home. Where do you live?" Stella looked at Crazy Wolfgang uncertainly. He was, after all, crazy. Quinn read her thoughts and bid Crazy Wolfgang and his mercenary goodbye.

"I live just south of Fort Independence," she said matter-of-factly, when the other men were safely out of earshot. "Under the remnants of an old highway bridge."

"Ten years by yourself?" Quinn looked impressed. Stella nodded as they approached a cliff. Suddenly she could see, not far away, the huge metal structure that Protector Rockfowl had indicated would be Megaton.

"Is that it?" she pointed, in awe.

"Yup. Megaton in all its glory. C'mon, let's go." He led her down the cliff and through an old burnt up town. "This is Springvale," he told her. She jumped a little when a flying robot whizzed past her head, playing an old military song. "And that is an Eyebot. The Enclave, the last remnants of the old United States government, control them. Although no one really knows anything about the Enclave..." Quinn trailed off. Stella saw and old rusted piece of metal with "Megaton" painted on it with an arrow. They followed the sign and arrived at the gigantic gates. A robot started to say something to them, but it was drowned out by the whirring of a huge fan. The gates started to creak open, and then she heard the robot welcome them.

"Ya'll be careful that thar weapon, ya hear?" it said. She looked down and realized that she was still holding her gun. She holstered it, and Quinn propped open the inner doors to Megaton for her.

Stella gasped slowly when she saw Megaton. Strings of lights were draped majestically across all of the buildings. The buildings were uniform in material, but otherwise they were stacked haphazardly atop one another. People walked to and fro, occasionally stopping and speaking to one another. A maze of rusted steel walkways connected the buildings to each other, and in the middle of the giant pit of water that everything was built upon was a huge spherical thing. She turned to Quinn, who was watching her take it all in.

"What is that thing?" she asked, pointing at the big sphere.

"That's an undetonated atomic bomb. You know, from the War." Stella gaped at him.

"So that thing can still... still go off?" she asked. He nodded grimly.

"Yep. And everyone's surprised that it hasn't yet. They're all living on borrowed time." She shuddered. Maybe living away from the rest of civilization for so long wasn't such a bad thing.

Stella and Quinn headed down a stairway from the entrance, getting closer to the bomb. It made her uncomfortable. Quinn led her to an outside bar. He took a seat on an empty stool and motioned for her to join him. The sign above the bar read "The Brass Lantern." A man and a woman stood in front of the door to the inner restaurant, bickering. The man sighed and shook his head, and then walked toward them.

"Hey Quinn. Can I help you guys with something?" People turned and looked. Some gawked. Stella was confused.

"Yeah Bobby, can I get an order of dog meat with mashed potatoes and some punga? Same thing for her." Bobby nodded toward Stella.

"Who's the dame?" he asked.

"Oh, right. Bobby, this is Stella McGovern. Stella, this is Robert Stahl." Robert reached out and shook Stella's hand.

"Call me Bobby," he said, winking at her. Stella blushed.

"Don't pay any attention to him. He's a dog," Quinn said, giving Bobby a harsh look. The woman with whom Bobby had been arguing with brought out two plates and set them down without a word. She turned abruptly and walked away.

"Speaking of not paying attention, ignore Leah. She's been fucking crazy for the last couple of weeks," Bobby said bitterly.

"Same thing?" Quinn asked knowingly.

"Yep. Same shit, different day." Stella ignored their conversation and ate ravenously. Quinn paid for their meals and Stella bought some extra food. They left Megaton in quiet thought. Every once in a while, Stella would look over and catch Quinn looking at her. It made her a little nervous, but she was eager to learn what her mother had left him, and she wanted to learn more about her mother.

When they arrived at the Cove, it was almost dark. They walked inside, and Quinn sat down on a crate Stella used for a stool. She dug around under her old mattress and pulled out the key and the note. She handed them to him, and sighed, relieved to have finally fufilled her mother's last request. Quinn took a deep breath, pocketed the key, and unfolded the letter. As he read, he drew sharp breaths occasionally. Sometimes he would nod as if he understood somethings. He tapped his foot impatiently. Stella tried to focus on something else. She looked out at the sky. Night was falling fast.

Quinn finally folded the note back and rested it in his lap. He sighed heavily, then began a long story.

"Your mother was from a place up north. She didn't talk about it much to me, she just called it the Pitt. I've since learned that it's the irradiated remains of Pittsburgh. She was a refugee, wandering around purposelessly. I caught her on the edge of collapse. I took her back to my home in Canterbury Commons, where I worked as a caravaner. There I nursed her back to health. She was just a little girl, only fifteen years old.

"I tried to raise her, discipline her. She wouldn't have it. Marie was never scared of me; never judged me for how I looked. However, she told me, in no few words, to fuck off. That she had parents and she didn't need more; that it wasn't my purpose. I didn't know what to do about it. I think it was mainly a moral issue for me-I didn't want the people of Commons to think of me as some crazed child predator. I wanted them to see me as her father figure, so they wouldn't think anything bad of me.

"Whatever plans I had, though, she paid no attention. Marie was a firecracker. She worked diligently by my side, and when I had nothing to do, she would patrol the town with Dominic or work with Joe in the diner. She earned her stay and then some. Sometimes she would come with me on trade routes, which was a horrible idea. While I was dealing with a customer, she had wandered off for some reason or another. And that's when the someone snatched her up. From what I gathered, they were raiders, but not like any raiders that I had ever heard of around here. What anyone wanted with her was beyond me, but I tried desparately to get her back. At the time, though I didn't know who or what had gotten her or where she had gone.

"Three months later, as I was making my way from Tenpenny Tower to Big Town, I noticed a group of raiders kicking a young woman. I killed them all with such vengeance. The woman they were beating was your mother. I grabbed her up and held her so close. She looked at me, looked past the rotting skin and exposed muscle, and she kissed me. She was only seventeen at the time, but I was over one hundred years old. Age meant nothing to me. That night, when we made a camp, she told me everything that had happened. That someone had come to 'take her back,' and that she had escaped and killed the three men. Then she was trying to find her way back home, but had gotten way off course. When she saw Tenpenny Tower in the distance, she decided to wait and seek me out there. Then the raiders ambushed her.

"That night, for the first time, we made love-" Stella cut him off.

"Could you be my father?" she asked hopefully.

"No, Stella. Ghouls are sterile. The radiation keeps us from reproducing," Quinn explained sadly. The look of pleading hopefulness in her eyes died away.

"Okay," she said. "Continue, please."

"Anyway, that night we made love and told each other how much we loved one another. For the next two years, we lived in complete bliss. We stayed together constantly. Against my will, she refused to stay home when I left on the caravan routes. I finally agreed to let her come with me, but I never let her leave my sight. We were inseparable. During the last months of our companionship, I noticed she was looking over her shoulder constantly. Every once in a while she would complain to Machete, one of the town's security guards, that she thought people were getting too close to the town. No one ever understood what she were talking about. Until one night, I woke up at almost two in the morning, and Marie was gone. I searched everywhere. Everyone tried to find her.

"Six months later, I was approaching Megaton when I noticed a man in very baggy clothes struggling to climb some rocks. I offered him help, and when he turned to face me, I recognized her eyes. I grabbed her down and kissed her harder than I had ever kissed her in my life. I realized, however, that something hard was in between us. She lifted up her shirt and showed me her belly, swollen with life. I was happy and irate at the same time.

"'Who did this to you?' I demanded. She broke down in tears.

"Raiders... they took me again. They think they will make me go back. I killed them all. There are no more. But someone is always looking for me, Quinn,' she whispered.

"'Now we will have a child, Marie. Now we will have a child,' I said in disbelief. She shook her head.

"'No, I have to go. I have to find somewhere to go. I will live alone. I will keep my baby safe. But you cannot come with me. If no one knows where I went, no one can find me.'

"I tried to take her somewhere safe, but she refused to let me. She demanded that I not know where she was, and to not tell anyone that I had seen her.

"I protested, but she finally put a gun to my head.

"'Quinn, I love you. But if you love me at all, if you care about my child and my life, then you will leave,' she said, pulling the hammer back on her pistol. Her eyes were welled up with tears and she was shaking. I nodded slowly, unable to speak. 'What I'm a part of you cannot begin to imagine.'

"She put the gun down and kissed me again. 'I love you,' she whispered. Then she ran off and I let her go. I never saw her again. I never heard from her again. Until now. She left this note for me to give instructions to you. This key opens a tunnel that leads to the Pitt. And you need to go.

"The Pitt is one of the worst remaining places in the world. Something about it, whether it was the smog from the factories or the fact that three irradiated rivers run together, no one knows. But the people there-they're suffering. And your mother was the first person ever born there who was immune to the hideous things caused by radiation. By the time babies were about four weeks old, they had become feral, turning into abominations that would make your skin crawl. You are the only hope they have left for a cure," Quinn finished.

"But... if Mom had the cure in her... why did she leave? Why didn't she help?" Stella ask, completely dumbfounded.

"She was being hunted by the leader of the slaves. They were rebelling, uprising. She spent several years in hiding before she came to the Capital Wasteland, seeking freedom. Now she needs you to go back, to help save your people."

"Wh-what? The only life I've ever known is hiding. I can't do this. Not alone."

"You won't have to go alone," Quinn said. "I will go with you. I won't abandon you. But we have to gather supplies. We need food, and most importantly ammo. And that's where all my connections will come in handy."

"What can I do?" Stella asked.

"Wait. Just wait here. I'll be back," Quinn said. "No, wait. Meet me at Jury Street Metro Station. It'll keep me from going too far out of the way. Let me draw you a map." He pulled a book out of his bag and dipped his finger in the ash of a fire pit. He drew a map on blank sheet of paper and tore it out, giving it to her. Then he stood to go.

"As of right now, my main priority is to keep you alive. You are the only hope for these people, and you are all I have left of the love of my life." She watched the sincerity in his face. It was strange to think of his mother with this man, the rotting skin and all.

"In three days, meet me there. Then we'll go." With that, Quinn left her alone in the Cove. She laid down on her mattress, but she couldn't sleep.


	4. She Knew She Was Important

Three days after meeting Quinn, Stella had barely slept. She had already packed and gathered supplies. She had furiously analyzed the makeshift map Quinn had drawn for her, making sure that she knew where she was going. Waking before dawn on the day she was supposed to meet him at Jury Street Metro Station, she set out early. He had written on the map to look out for raiders, that there was a nest near the metro station, so she had been practicing with her submachine gun. Deeming herself barely sufficient with the gun, she holstered it and shouldered her bag. She sighed, looking back at the Cove before setting out.

The sun began to rise as Stella passed by Fort Independence. She stuck close to it, counting on their sympathetic protection again.

"Here's some of the local wildlife," one soldier mocked as she walked by. Stella ignored the snide comment and kept walking. She knew she was important. In her blood was the key to saving an entire race of people.

It was close to high noon when she reached Megaton. She stopped for a moment and drank from a bottle of water, when she noticed a dirty old man leaning on a rock. He watched her longingly, saying something she could not hear. She was frightened, until she realized that he wanted some water. Stella pulled out a bottle and handed it to him.

"Thank you so much, stranger," he said. "I can't give you anything in return, you know."

"I don't care at all!" she said.

"Thank you!" he called out as she continued on her journey. It was easy to navigate with the landmarks Quinn had marked out for her. She knew what to avoid and where she could relax.

She could see the water tower by the metro station that Quinn had told her to look for when she came across a feral dog. She tried to hide from it, but it sniffed her out. She held her breath and drew her gun. It ran for her, baring its razor sharp teeth. She shot at it, her hands shaking rapidly. It whimpered, but continued to attack. It dug its teeth into her arm. Stella screamed loudly and drew the knife on her hip. She cut its throat, and it died with its teeth in her arm. As she was prying open its jaw, she heard footsteps. Then she remembered Quinn's warning that raiders had an outpost near the station. She grimaced, but heard a familiar voice calling her name.

"Stella? Stella are you okay?" Quinn asked with concern.

"Quinn, I'm over here!" she called back from her hiding spot beneath a rock. He ran to her.

"Are you okay? Here, let me help you." He pulled the dog's mouth open in one quick movement and broke its jaw. He threw it to the ground and held her arm gingerly. He pressed down on her arm. "I don't think it broke anything. You're going to be fine, but it's going to bruise badly and you're going to bleed." She watched him pull out gauze and wrap it around her arm. He felt her looking at him and shot her a sympathetic grin. She smiled softly, enjoying his warm touch. "There. All better. You should be all healed up in a couple of days." He looked into her eyes and put his hand on her face. "You look just like her," he whispered. She stared back into his green eyes.

Suddenly Quinn's pupils got huge and his mouth gaped. As he fell, a raider pulled a knife from his back. Blood dripped off of it as Stella watched in slow motion. She grabbed her gun and unloaded the entire magazine. When she looked up, the raider was dead. Quinn coughed, sputtering blood.

"Shh... you're fine. You're going to be alright," she said, trying to comfort him as she began to cry.

"Go to Underworld. Find..." he coughed again. His eyes rolled back into his head.

"Find... find who?" Stella prompted gently.

"Charon. You need Charon. Go to Underworld. Find Charon," he repeated one last time. He shuddered in his last breath, then passed slowly.

Stella began to throw up.

She heaved until she had completely emptied the contents of her stomach. Her muscles ached and her eyes throbbed from crying. She laid on the ground in a puddle of her own vomit, surrounded by the bodies of Quinn, the raider, and the dog. Against her will, she fell asleep.

When Stella woke up, the sun was setting. Sitting up, the realization of what had just happened hit her. Her heart hurt, but she knew what she had to do. With a clear plan in her head, she grabbed Quinn's bag and hers. She shouldered Quinn's huge assault rifle, arming herself as if she was heading into full on warfare. She stopped abruptly when she realized that she had no idea how to get to Underworld. She leaned on a rock and sighed.

Feeling the burn of thirst, Stella opened Quinn's bag and searched through it. She found the book from which he had drawn her map, and she opened it to a marked page. There was a map scratched out across several pages. She smiled. Quinn had been looking out for her even when she wasn't with him.

Stella studied the map for a minute. All she had to do was go straight underground and follow the red line metro tunnels. With the darkness impending, she knew her best bet was to go underground now and travel straight through. She walked the rest of the short way and checked the map again.

With a deep breath, Stella opened the metal gate to the metro station and entered the dank tunnels.


	5. Welcome to the Mall, Tourist

The metro tunnels were colder than Stella had expected, but it was easier to see in them than she expected, and the cool air felt good on the inflamed wound on her arm. The throbbing bite reminded of her Quinn, and she felt a pang of guilt. If she had been able to kill that dog sooner, Quinn might have seen the raider coming. And he might still be alive. She sighed with a heavy heart. Although she had only known him for a few days, he had shown her a part of herself that she would never have known otherwise.

Occasionally, when walking through the twisted tunnels, there would be a metro train derailed on the side of the tunnel. She felt humbled. This is where humanity, at its best, had traveled, had started its day. Now it was the bowels of the earth. Even as she walked, she stirred up ancient dirt and dust. Soon she realized she was also walking through mud. It seemed odd, though, that there would be mud underground. As she bent down to inspect it and discovered that it was blood mixed with dirt, there was a low hissing sound. Stella looked up and saw a twisted man raising its arms and dashing toward her. She backed up to the wall and drew her gun. When she tried to fire it, however, it clicked dishearteningly. After she had emptied her cartridge on the raider that had killed Quinn, she had never reloaded it. So she punched the man-thing in as hard as she could in the face. It tried to scratch at her, but it reeled backwards and gave her time to draw her knife. It ran straight into the blade, and fell. She stabbed it a few more times for good measure, then shuddered. Whatever it was, it looked kind of like Quinn, only more... more gone. She shook it off and holstered her knife, then reloaded her gun.

Stella began to get drowzy. She hadn't slept well in several days, and although she had accidentally napped today, it was short and did little to refresh either her body or her strained nerves. However, she was uncomfortable with being underground alone with those things sneaking around everywhere. Instead of sleeping in the metro tunnels, she decided to try and make it to Underworld.

After walking for what seemed like several hours, she came upon an opening. There were voices echoing through the huge station, and there was a raider pacing around on the mezzanine. Stella weighed her options. She could try and fight them all, or she could try to sneak by them. Or, she could run for it. She chose the latter. Dashing up the metro escalator, she heard gunfire echoing behind her, she began to sprint. When she reached the station, she sprang the inner station gates open and then pushed through the outer gates. The red dawn sky enveloped Stella, and she kept running. She ran up the steps and then froze. Behind her, she heard the gates opening. Before her, huge yellow mutants roamed aimlessly. Breathless, she tried to run around the metro entrance. A bullet whizzed past her ear. She ducked and took cover laying on her back beside a concrete lip that lined the metro entrance.

Raiders ran up the metro steps. Behind her, she heard the same sound that came from the Outcasts' laser weapons. In the distance a loud whirring sound started up slowly, then quickly sped up. There were five raiders. Two were facing her, shooting at whatever was behind her. Another was facing the super mutants, shooting towards them. And the other two were looking, she was sure, for her. One spotted her and she ducked her head down. He walked slowly toward her, raising a sledgehammer. She raised up again, pointing her gun. She took careful aim and pulled the trigger. The raider flailed, but didn't fall. The laser weapon behind her fired again, and the raider fell, his chest sporting a gaping, ashy hole. Then the giant mutants began coming toward the metro station.

As she opened fire on a mutant, it began looking around, trying to find its assailant. Realizing it was Stella, it began stalking toward her. She sat up and knelt for better aim. When she fired, a raider ran in front of her, but was thrown backwards by the rain of small bullets. After the raider fell, she could see a mutant with an utterly massive machine gun stomping toward the battlefront. Soldiers in power armor like the Outcasts, only silver, marched toward the fight with laser machine guns and other high powered weapons.

It was sheer chaos. She looked behind her and saw that the person shooting behind her was a female Ghoul. Stella scrambled to her feet and darted toward her, kneeling beside her for extra cover. Gunfire was hitting the historical museum behind her, bringing down small pieces of concrete like rain. A raider fighting a mutant got its head smashed to oblivion by a nail board. The nail went straight through its skull, and gore splattered everywhere. Watching this, Stella got dizzy. She tried to contribute to the fight, but she began to fall backwards.

She snapped back to reality when the massive brown doors to the museum flung open, smashing the wall behind it. A massive blur of a man darted outside, followed by a huge hovering robot. The enormous ringing of a shotgun echoed in the small courtyard. The robot took down the last raider and while the mysterious man stalked toward the soldiers. While they were fighting the mutants, he knelt on one knee and shot one in the head. It exploded, armored helmet and all. The other, armed with a chainsaw, ran toward him. The man shot him in the crotch, then in the chest. He fell backwards. The man walked toward his body, then shot him in the head. He walked away, ignoring the mutants. One began to shoot at Stella. The man watched the female Ghoul react, then walked back toward the two mutants, killing them in a matter of one minute. Then he strapped his shotgun to his back and began to walk back toward the museum.

Stella reloaded her submachine gun and holstered it. The Ghoul she had been fighting beside patted her on the shoulder.

"Don't see a lot of combat, do ya tourist?" she asked Stella.

"Uh, nope. Not really. What were those things?" she asked, nodding her head back toward the mall.

"Which things? There were a lot of things out there. There were the raiders, which followed you from the metro tunnels. Then there were the super mutants, who are locked in a perpetual battle with the Brotherhood of Steel, those assholes in the power armor. The knuckle-dragging mutants don't bother us Ghouls, but the Brotherhood of Steel fires on us if we're out in the open. Bigots," she snarled. "My name's Willow, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Willow," Stella said. "So I guess I made it to Underworld?"

"Yup, sure did. Hey, thanks Charon, thanks Cerberus," Willow said, nodding toward the man and the robot that had come out from the building to aid with the fighting. Stella perked up.

"Did you say Charon?" she asked quickly, as the door shut behind them.

"Yeah, he's the big Ghoul with the big gun. The robot is Cerberus, our Mister Gutsy. I'm the sentry. I take care of outer security while Charon and Cerberus handle the inside. Sometimes, like today, I need some extra help. I guess they could hear all the shooting from inside, though. Damn."

"Thank you so much Willow!" Stella said. "I have to hurry now."

"See ya later!" Willow called to her. "Oh, and hey, welcome to the Mall," she said sarcastically. Stella smiled as she entered the building. She saw Charon and ran toward him.

"Hey! Hey Charon!" Stella called out urgently. He kept walking. She caught up to him. "Charon, I need to talk to you."

"Talk to Ahzrukhal," he said and kept walking. She ran to him again and grabbed his arm.

"Charon, you have to help me. Quinn sent me for you." He yanked his arm away from her small hands. "Go talk to Ahzrukhal," he said, clearly frustrated. He was not half as frustrated as Stella was, however. As he turned to talk away, Stella got in front of him and pushed him backward.

"Don't walk away! I need your help. There's a whole race of people dying, and without you I can't do anything about it. You can't walk away from that, can you?" she demanded angrily. He looked down at her, straight into her eyes.

"Talk. To. Ahzrukhal." Then he shoved her down and turned to go back inside. After a moment's hesitation, he turned back to her. "Don't make me say it again." With that, he walked into the large black double-doors that lead into the Underworld Concourse.


	6. Cold Shoulder, Colder Stare

Stella sat on the steps before the massive skull that welcomed visitors to Underworld. Putting her head in her hands, she thought about Quinn. She thought about the stories he had told her. About the babies. And about how her blood may change the face of that world. Her head throbbed, her arm throbbed, and her heart was sick. But she gathered her thoughts and gathered herself up. She had to find someone to go with her, or die trying.

When she pulled back the door and entered Underworld, she was hit with an overwhelmingly bad smell, like burnt skin, vomit, and dried blood. A Ghoul in a blue jumpsuit walked up to her.

"Well, well, wouldja look at that? What business you got here, smoothskin?" he asked. Ghouls walking throughout the concourse stopped and looked toward her.

"Smoothskin?" Stella replied slowly, her voice shaky. "What's a smoothskin?"

"You know, smoothskin. Because your skin is so smooth... and tasty." Stella's eyes widened in horror. The Ghoul laughed heartily. "Relax kid, we're not the kind that eat people. Those are the ones running around underground, naked." That explained the thing she fought in the metro tunnels. Stella breathed a sigh of relief and gave a nervous chuckle. "I'm Winthrop. I'm Underworld's engineer. Whaddya need?"

"Well, I'm looking for Charon," she answered nervously, very well aware of the several sets of eyes on her. The few Ghouls who had stopped to listen in on their conversation looked taken aback.

"What could you possibly want with Charon?" the Ghoul asked.

"I need an escort. I'm looking for someone to come with me on an important expedition to the Pitt, and I'm not much of a fighter, to say the very least. I tried to talk to Charon outside, but he wouldn't listen," Stella explained.

"It's not his fault. No one really knows... well, that's just it. No one really knows anything about him. He has no friends. He only speaks when Ahzrukhal tells him to and he makes no other efforts to interact with anyone. Ever since Ahzrkhal showed up with him, he's been nothing but a huge, scary man. And the only thing that's changed is that he's gotten bigger and meaner," he said. "There are plenty of mercenaries out there, though. Why do you want that bastard?"

"I don't really know," Stella began. "I was sent here by my friend Quinn after he was killed. He was leading me up there when a raider attacked and killed him. As he was dying, he kept murmuring something like, 'Charon, Underworld,' over and over again until he passed. And I wouldn't have any idea how to find another mercenary anyway."

"Wow. Quinn's gone... Wow." Winthrop trailed off. "I knew he was taking what he called a 'leave of absence' for some reason or another. Why on earth would you want to go to the Pitt, though?"

"Quinn knew my mother. Her dying wish was to give him a note, and when I stumbled upon him, he was eager to help me when the note said I was to go to her homeland, which was the Pitt."

"Hmm... maybe you do need Charon. Talk to Ahzrukhal about it. I'm sure if he hears the story he'll do what he can out of respect for Quinn and everything he had done for him. You'll find 'em both upstairs in The Ninth Circle."

"Thank you Winthrop," Stella said.

"No problem. It's the least I could do for Quinn." Winthrop's voice trailed off, and he walked away.

Stella started up the stairs, passing Ghouls left and right that stared menacingly at her. She walked by a Ghoul with a head of thick white hair wearing red silk pajamas.

"Hey. Hey you. Yeah you, with the hair. C'mon, lemme at it. I won't hurt it, I swear," he begged. Stella looked at him with uncertainty; then he took a hit off of a red inhaler. She walked away, hurrying. Then she came across the door to The Ninth Circle.

The smell that hit her when she first walked in Underworld was much stronger in here. At least twenty-five Ghouls were crammed in the small room. A thick layer of smoke hung over everything. Despite the crowd and the dim lighting, it was still easy to find Charon. He stood at least a head taller than everyone else. He turned and looked when she came in the room, but then quickly returned his gaze to the conversation the bartender was having with a very intoxicated patron.

"Patchwork, do not make me tell you again. Stop trying to pick fights, friend, or Charon will handle you at his own discretion." the Ghoul behind the bar was saying. Stella figured he must be Ahzrukhal. The Ghoul he was threatening started stammering.

"B-b-but they st-st-start-ed-ed it. I's just... I's just f-fi-finishing..." he trailed off as he fell asleep at the bar.

Stella sat down on a barstool, away from Patchwork. The Ghoul bartender sighed.

"It has been a long day, my my," he said, wiping a glass. "Has it been a long day for you? You look like you've seen better days. C'mon now, don't be shy. Buy a drink and tell ol' uncle Ahzrukhal all about it."

"Actually, Ahzrukhal, I need your help." Ahzrukhal grinned.

"Now that is what I like to hear! What can I, Underworld's humble barkeep, do for this pretty young smoothskin?"

"Charon. I need him. Quinn sent me here after he died to retrieve him for a journey," Stella began, launching into a brief accord of her story. Ahzrukhal nodded and listened attentively. When she finished, he put his head in his hand.

"Oh Quinn," he said. "My dear, dear friend. I am sorry for your situation, madame. Truly I am. But you don't understand the predicament you put me in. I've lost one friend today, and now you want me to lose another? What a painful day this would be for me." Stella's heart sank, but she empathized with him. "It would be a high, high price."

"Price?" Stella questioned. "I won't pay for a person. That's slavery." Ahzrukhal shook his head.

"No, no absolutely not! Madam, you insult me. I do not believe in slavery. It is an abomination. No, you would not be purchasing Charon himself. You would be buying a contract. A contract that makes him blindly loyal to its holder."

"How? Why would he would he do that? And how is that any different from slavery?" she asked.

"No one knows. When I first heard about him, I was astounded. His contract then belonged to my friend. When my friend passed away from completely unforeseeable circumstances, I was named the beneficiary of Charon's contract. He will do almost anything, no matter how violent and dangerous. There are very, very few caveats. And you are not buying a person, as I said earlier. You are buying a contract. Just a simple piece of paper."

Stella watched Charon. He scanned with room with mechanical proficiency. "How much?" she asked. Ahzrukhal thought for a moment.

"I could not bear to part with him, er, the contract, for less than two thousand caps. Yes, yes, that sounds fair." Stella's heart sank.

"Sir, I don't have that much. I've never even seen that much." Ahzrukhal thought for a moment.

"I do have an alternative. I do not like competition. And ever since Greta over at Carol's Place began to serve alcohol, I have had it. If you would," he stopped, looked around, and began to whisper, "kill her, quietly of course, Charon's contract would belong to you. If not, then I will retain possession of it." Stella stared in amazement.

"Are you serious? Never!" she snapped in disgust. Ahzrukhal shrugged carelessly.

"Then you must come up with two thousand caps," he said, a certain finality in his voice.

Stella left the Ninth Circle almost in tears. _Shit,_she thought. _Shit shit shit. What now?_ She walked around Underworld aimlessly, and then entered a store called Underworld Outfitters. A female Ghoul stood in front of some shelves piled with weapons, cleaning. She turned around upon hearing footsteps.

"Oh, you're the smoothskin everyone's talking about. My name's Tulip," she said. "And this is my shop. What can I get you?"

"I need to trade. Anything and everything. I need to make some caps, fast."

"Oh, yeah, you came for Charon. I hope you're not looking for conversation," Tulip said jokingly.

"The way it looks, I'm not getting Charon. Ahzrukhal's charging me two thousand caps for the contract."

"Contract?" Tulip asked.

"Yes, it's what keeps him obligated to Ahzrukhal."

"Uh-huh," Tulip answered uncertainly. "Well, let's see what I can do for you. What'd'ya got?" Tulip asked. Stella began searching through Quinn's bag.

"Ummm... a Chinese pistol, another bigger pistol, two knives, some ammo, a pair of boots... Hey, what's this?" Stella stopped and pulled out a burlap sack that was jingling. She opened it up and it was filled with caps. "Oh Quinn!" she exclaimed happily.

She piled up the caps on the counter and counted them, Tulip helping. When they finished, Stella was amazed. She had one thousand, five hundred and thirty nine caps.

"Well, I can get you three hundred caps hon, and that's being generous," Tulip said. Stella nodded, undeterred.

"That's wonderful," Stella answered. Tulip handed her the caps.

"Good luck, kid," Tulip said. Stella smiled.

"Thanks. I think I'll need it." She bagged the caps up and thanked Tulip once again, then ran up the stairs. Stella once again entered the Ninth Circle. She glanced at Charon, still in his corner. He looked at her without an ounce of interest. He focused most of his attention on Patchwork, who had started to stir on his barstool.

"Here," Stella said, dropping the bag of caps on the bar. Ahzrukhal grinned.

"That, my dear girl, is what I like to hear. The sweet sound of a business transaction." Ahzrukhal opened the bag and peered inside. "Not a cap short, I suppose."

"Actually sir," she said. "It's about a hundred and thirty short." Ahzrukhal studied her for a few moments.

"Alright," he sighed reluctantly. "I think you have some news to tell your new friend," he said, handing her a leathery piece of paper. Stella walked up to Charon apprehensively.

"I said, talk to Ahzrukhal."

"Um, sir, I have your contract now. Ahzrukhal told me to tell you," Stella said quietly.

"You purchased my contract from Ahzrukhal? So I am no longer in his service. That is good to know. Please, wait here," he said, walking toward the bar. Stella was glad to hear the pleasant tone to his voice.

"Ah, Charon, have you come to say goodbye?" Ahzrukhal asked, not looking up from the glass he was polishing.

"I have," Charon said sharply. In less than a second, the massive shotgun was off his back and in Ahzrukhal's face. The blast from the shotgun rang out through the small room, and the gore splattered all over the walls. Charon walked back toward her.

"Ready?" he asked her. She looked up at him, full of fear.

"Why... why did you do that?" she whispered breathlessly.

"Ahzrukhal was an evil bastard. You purchasing my contract freed me to rid the world from that rat. Now, for good or ill, I serve you."

Stella tried to reign herself in, the moral issue of Charon in her service gnawing at the back of her mind.

"Alright," she said after a pause. "I guess we should get going."

"Please, excuse me again." He returned with the caps Stella had given Ahzrukhal. "Here," he said, placing the bag in her hands. Stella was unsure what to make of this gesture. Was it a kind of peace offering? Or was it routine? She shook it off as well and tried to remain focused on the task at hand.

"Do you need to sleep before we head out?" she asked him. "I think I might."

"I do not require sleep right now, but I suggest you rest, and we set out in the morning," Charon said. Stella nodded. He showed her to a cot that Ahzrukhal slept on. "You can rest here, and I will keep watch over you."

Stella settled in and fell into a deep, yet uneasy sleep.


	7. Walking Blindly

Stella woke a few hours later.

"What time is it?" she asked Charon.

"Dawn should be breaking about now."

"I guess we should get started then," she said. Charon nodded in response. The enormity of her duty was starting to settle onto her shoulders, and she was questioning the likelihood of anything coming of it. Stella felt as though she was walking blindly into her own demise. She knew that her survival depended solely on Charon, and whether or not she owned him, he was going to have to stick around.

"Charon, I need you to help me survive," Stella told him bluntly. "I may be asking a lot of you, but you need to tell me what to do and when to do it."

"Do you have any armor?" he asked, as though he was already fully aware of what she was telling him.

"No, all I have is what's on my back."

"That will not help you. You need something that will help you abstain from injury."

"Should we check Underworld Outfitters?" she asked. He nodded. They headed downstairs. Ghouls whispered loudly to one another all across Underworld about Charon, Ahzrukhal, and this strange smoothskin. Stella looked at her feet. So many years of being alone had made these last few days of forced interaction with strangers very difficult. She had mustered up all the courage she had in her being, but it seemed that she had exhausted her reserves. All she wanted to do now was hide. She suffered from extreme agoraphobia, and with this whole world forced in front of her now, it felt as though it would swallow her whole. Every fiber of her being was thankful that Charon didn't seem to care for conversation.

"Good morning," Tulip yawned sleepily as the two entered her shop. Stella nodded.

"I think I need some armor, ma'am," Stella said, uncertainly. Tulip smiled.

"You think you do?"

"I mean, I know I do. I mean I do!" Stella said, fighting the urge to get angry.

"Do you have anything in mind?" Stella turned to ask Charon, and was awestruck by his stature. He stood at least six foot eight, and dressed in all black, with the ever-imposing shotgun at his side, he seemed a force to be reckoned with. He glanced down at her with piercing blue eyes, the whites of them yellowing from time and the radiation. They were emotionless and empty. If eyes were windows to one's soul, then Charon was soulless, and something about this seemed a completely rational suggestion. Stella shuddered.

"She needs to be able to move spryly and get to cover swiftly," he said, eyeing Tulip's inventory. He looked past the full suits of armor that might hinder movement. Tulip pulled a stack of light clothing from her shelf and Charon thumbed through it. "Here," he said, piecing together an outfit. He laid out a pair of faded and worn denim jeans, a long-sleeved green shirt that looked as though it might hang down past her knees, a thick leather vest covered in pockets, some that looked like they were originally part of the vest, and others added later by necessity, and a pair of leather boots with a sheath sewn into the side of the left boot.

Tulip charged one hundred caps for the clothing, and Stella walked across the concourse to a large bathroom, used as a common room. She closed herself in a stall, then faced the toilet, eager to relieve herself. She remembered happily the toilet that was in the home that her and her mother had briefly lived at in Minefield. It was so much more pleasant then the creative ways she had found to defecate in the Cove.

Stella looked down at the mangled mess of clothing she wore now. Ripping some fabric from it, she dipped the strip in a sink and returned to her stall. As she undressed herself, she wiped her body down with her makeshift rag. It didn't take long for it to darken in color from all of the dirt she had accumulated. Now completely naked except for her tattered pair of cotton underwear and the binding on her breasts, she began to unwind the cloth. This was the painful part. She twisted slowly, with more and more of herself exposing. The milky color of her skin was mottled with pressure marks. Without a bra, however, she knew this would have to do. She gave her skin a moment to breathe, and then began to rewrap herself.

Stella then faced her new wardrobe. She slipped the green shirt on first, and it slid easily over her head. It had a sickeningly sweet smell embedded in the cloth that she couldn't quite identify, and she knew she didn't like it. It was nauseatingly familiar. It hung very low on her, and the sleeves extended another four inches past her hands. She rolled the sleeves up to her elbows and pulled the jeans on next. They were huge and would not rest on her hips, and she had to roll the hems of the pants up to keep from stepping on them. Stella tucked the shirt into the jeans, but to no avail; they continued to slip off her slender frame. The idea struck her to fashion a makeshift belt, so she once again tore a strip from her old clothing and tied it tightly through the loops on her jeans. Sliding the boots onto her feet, she was relieved to find that they were close to fitting despite being slightly large. She tucked the excess from her pants into the legs of her boots. Finally, she pulled the leather vest on and buttoned it.

Stepping out from the stall, Stella turned toward a mirror. She was taken aback. It had been several, several years since she had seen her reflection. The woman gazing back at her now reminded herself of her mother much more than it did of the young girl she had once seen. Her soft brown eyes with the dark ring around the iris and the green flecks, all framed by long, curving lashes, were clearly inherited from her mother. Her thin brows were the same chestnut color of her hair, also a trait from Marie, as well as the rounded shape of her face. The similarities ended there, whereas her mother boasted thick, rounded lips, Stella's were small with a definite shape. Marie possessed a button nose, dusted with freckles, while Stella's was long and solemn, and her skin was almost completely white because of her lack of exposure to sunlight. Stella didn't like to think about where she inherited the characteristics that had not belonged to her mother. She pretended like she had created them herself, that they belonged to her and her alone, and she hoped that her unpredicted travels would not bring her in the presence of the man who shared these features.

Stella unwrapped her hair from its cover, and let it hang past her shoulders. When she got the urge, she would take a knife to it and cut it when it became too cumbersome. She grabbed a knife from the bag Quinn had packed, and studying herself in the mirror, cut it to just below her jawline. She threw the excess in a trash can nearby and pulled a few bobby pins from her own bag, adjusting her hair so it would not fall in her eyes. Examining herself one last time, she shouldered the bags and met Charon outside of the restroom.

"Ready?" she asked. He nodded and they headed for the exit.

As they stepped out into the morning light that was breaking across the Mall, Stella pulled the map from her pocket. Charon studied it over her shoulder.

"Where are we going?" he asked after a moment.

"To the Pitt," she replied nonchalantly.

"The best way to get to the train tunnel that heads that way is to go from here to here," he indicated, pointing out his examples.

"We aren't heading to the tunnel though," Stella replied. "We'll have to slip in through another passageway in a stealthy manner. The tunnel is here, near the remnants of an old satellite array. From what is described in my mother's letter, the tunnel will lead to an entrance to the train tunnel close to its end, and from there we can keep off the radar."

"Then what is best for us to do is return through the way you came and then head slight northeast from the Jury Street metro station," Charon said, and headed toward the metro station that Stella had fled from the previous evening. Stella followed him in silence.

For several hours the two traipsed through the dank train tunnels. The glowing lights that had once indicated to conductors the walls of the tunnels now served as Charon and Stella's only way of seeing what was in their surroundings. Charon's footfalls were expert, always landing as predicted at the perfect intervals between ledges and tracks, never stumbling over rubble. Stella was less graceful. Every few feet she stubbed a toe, and consistently tripped over every obstacle. Stealth and speed were her goals, but it seemed like she was both clumsy and slow. She watched Charon with a sense of jealousy. Her back ached and her feet felt swollen, and she could feel blisters rubbing on her heel. The muggy underground trapped heat and in her clothing she felt as though she were in an oven. Her bladder was full and her stomach was empty, and it was probably just past noon. Charon, on the other hand, had not lost his pace from the start of their sojourn, and had in fact increased in speed. He had not complained, nor indicated any need to relieve himself or eat. She wondered how many years of travelling and surviving he had endured, and how long it took to get a hang of all of this. She refused to give in, however, and after brushing against another wall she hadn't realized was there, she took her motivation up a level and continued on.

Another hour in silence led them to an opening in a tunnel, as the two had reached a station. Charon put a hand out to stop her, and Stella, eager for a moment's rest, halted immediately.

"Feral ghouls," he whispered calmly, and in the station lighting she could just make out several hunched silhouettes slinking around. She remembered the one that had attacked her on her way to Underworld, and she thought about her own bravado. That was a lone one, however. There were at least five that she could see, and if more than one came at her then she would be in trouble.

"They will not attack me," Charon said. "They will attack you."

"I knew the latter," she replied.

"Let me handle this," he said. "Wait." With that, he crouched down low and snuck toward the nearest one. In one smooth motion, he was standing and covered the feral's mouth, slitting its throat. It fell limp against him, and he gently laid it aside, then he moved on to the next one. He repeated it until all the ferals had fallen, and then motioned for her to join him. She moved quietly, unsure of how he was so certain that the station was empty. She sidestepped a feral's corpse, disturbed by its twisted post-mortem expression and gnarled features, and continued toward Charon. He watched her fumble her way to him, and when she reached him, he gently lifted Quinn's bag from her and shouldered it himself.

"Thank you," she said. He said nothing, but pointed ahead. Stella was not sure if any of these tunnels looked familiar to her, and in a daze of paranoia, began to wonder if somehow she had just walked herself into a trap of these sadistic Ghouls and would momentarily be ambushed; knocked unconscious, and then drug back to Underworld for a feast. She shook off her wild and illegitimate theories and put full trust in the man in front of her. After all, what other choice did she have?


	8. She Had Yet To Give Up

Stella and Charon had been traveling for close to twelve hours when Charon finally suggested resting. After Charon had killed all the ferals, they had only run into a pair of raiders getting high in a supply closet which Charon had made short work of, as well as a mole rat, which he stabbed to harvest its meat. It was just after this that he mentioned taking a break so that he could cook it. Stella quickly gave her approval of resting, her legs were weak and every step was draining. She shuffled her bag off to the side and tried to bend over to stretch, but her back muscles were pulled so tightly she could barely reach her knees. She collapsed against the wall instead, sticking her legs out straight in front of her and stretching her leg muscles.

Charon was gathering scraps of paper and wood from an old table in a rusted and dented fifty-five gallon drum. Stella scrambled up to help him and promptly fell over. Her right calf muscle was engorged with blood and throbbing, and the sudden pressure on it after the much needed although much too short relaxation caused her leg to buckle. Almost instantaneously, Charon was at her side to assist her. She had helped herself back to standing and leaned against the wall.

"You should sit," he said monotonously. She nodded, but looked back toward the barrel.

"I wanted to help you."

"I can manage this; you need to rest before you get an injury." Stella acquiesced reluctantly, and plopped back down the floor. Her right calf began to pulse angrily, and she felt a knotting in her stomach.

Charon looked into the barrel, and then pulled something from his pocket and held it inside for a minute, and then pulled it out. A few moments later, Stella saw the barrel start to emit a weak light. Amazed, she watched the fire glow. Charon sat down across the small maintenance tunnel from her and dragged the mole rat carcass toward him, then began to carve it. She watched the fire grow from a few weak embers into a strong flame. It danced and curled, and ash drifted up from it. The heat soon became obvious, and she removed the leather vest to help alleviate some of the sweating.

"How did you do that?" Stella asked after a few minutes of silence.

"Do what?" Charon asked, not looking up from hacking the meat from the mole rat's ribcage.

"Start the fire." Charon glanced up at her, and in the flickering light, his face took on a distorted and frightening appearance. However, his voice was almost soft when he replied.

"With a lighter."

"What's a lighter?" she asked, hating the cyclical sound of the conversation. She knew he was doing so much for her, but she couldn't retain her curiosity.

"It's a very small container of butane gas that uses a system of metal striking a flint to create a spark which ignites the gas into a flame." He pulled the lighter he had used from his pocket and slid it across the ground to her. Stella picked it up and fumbled with it. She rolled the small wheel on it and tried to push the button, but all to no avail.

Charon looked up from time to time while he cut the meat to watch Stella try to figure out the lighter. At least ten minutes had passed since he had given it to her, and although she had yet to figure out the right way to use it, she also had yet to give up.

"Roll the striker down, and then hold the button underneath. That strikes the flint, and the button releases the gas." He watched as she did it slowly, and a flame appeared. She started when she saw it and dropped the lighter.

"Wow," Stella marveled, doing it until she had mastered the technique.

"Do not exhaust the supply of gas," Charon warned. She slid it back to him, and he pocketed again. They sat in silence for a long while, until he finished cleaning the meat. He stood and walked away, and then quickly returned with two metal poles. Stella watched as he held them over the fire. She stood and walked toward him, her leg hurting more than ever now that it had gotten rest and was greedy for more.

"What are you doing now?" she asked.

"Sterilizing the stakes I will stab the meat with and roast it over the flame on."

"Let me help," she said. He handed her both rods.

"While you do this, I would like to do a swift reconnaissance of the area," he told her, almost as though he was asking her permission. Stella kept herself stalwart at her duty. Charon sheathed his knife in his belt and walked away. After several minutes had passed, Stella glanced around the corner to see if Charon was near. His presence was imposing and unsettling, but she had to admit that a deeper unease had settled on her while he was away. Not seeing his hulking silhouette in the distance, she took it upon herself to stake the meat and rest it over the flame.

Charon returned to find Stella turning the meat religiously over the fire. He nodded, as though to show his approval, and watched her.

"I can do that, ma'am," he offered. Stella shook her head.

"I don't mind at all, and you've already done so much for me," she replied. "And please, don't call me ma'am," she said.

"What would you prefer I call you?" he asked. The question and the monotony in his voice when he asked it reminded Stella that she had actually purchased him from Ahzrukhal, something that she had been trying to bury in her memory.

"Stella is fine," she answered.

"Yes, Ms. Stella."

"The title's not necessary, just Stella is fine," she repeated, a little frustrated that he was making this so difficult for her to forget. _Maybe_, she thought, _just maybe this is his way of reminding me, of not letting me forget that I have put a price on a fellow human being and involved myself in an institution that I find appalling. Maybe it is a ploy of his to keep me from getting too comfortable and happy with myself. He knows that it bothers me. He has to know. And he wants me to suffer from it, just like he is suffering from being enslaved_. The realization of what she had so hastily done spewed back up from inside of her and she felt her cheeks getting hot.

"Yes, Stella," he replied. That broke her.

"I don't want you to be my slave!" she cried out. He looked at her.

"I am no one's slave," he said with a little bitterness in his voice, the first change in tone Stella had heard from him.

"How? How are you not my slave if I paid money for you? How do you have a contract that enslaves you? Why do you follow it? Why don't you just walk away?"

"It is not for me to explain to you my contract," he spat. "And it is not for little girls to understand."

Stella felt rage bubbling up, but guilt and empathy overrode it.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to pry; you're right, I just don't understand it. I don't understand how anything is out here and this puts me in such an awkward predicament."

Charon fell silent for several minutes as Stella continued to turn the mole rat. He didn't sit, he didn't pace, he didn't move, he just stood across the fire, watching the meat cook. After about five more minutes, he announced it was done, and held it up to let it cool. Stella hung her head in shame. Although he claimed to not be enslaved, she still felt guilt for what she had done, and lashing out at him because of her culture shock of this new world that had expanded to her was irrational and immature. Charon pulled a slab of meat off the stake and handed it to her. She took it obligingly and sat back down against her wall and began to eat. She was unsure of what to expect at first, and although it was gamey and tough, it was also fattening and filling. Charon took his place opposite her and began eating as well.

Once she had finished, she began to walk away, back toward a closet they had passed to urinate. After a moment of walking, she felt something behind her and turned quickly. Charon had fallen into step behind her.

"I'm just going to go make water," she said, a little bashful about admitting it. Charon nodded like he so often did.

"I will wait here for you," he said. She shuffled off, trying to keep the pressure from her right leg. After she had finished, she returned to him, and they walked in silence back to their tunnel.

The fire was starting to slowly die when they returned. Stella sat down again and fumbled with a string hanging from her pants, not sure what to do with her hands. Charon began to take apart his shotgun. Stella perked up and watched.

Piece by piece he pulled apart with ease. He unloaded the drum magazine and cleaned the chambers, then reloaded it. He sat aside the barrel of the gun and cleaned the firing pin chamber, then began work on the barrel. The cloth he was using was almost completely blackened from the gunpowder that had built up over time. Stella rummaged through her bag until she came up with the outfit she had once worn, and cut a patch of fabric from it. She got up and handed Charon the square. He looked at her, and then back at it, and took it without a word. Stella sat back down and pulled out her SMG. She pulled the clip out and, noticing it only had a few rounds left in it, began reloading it. It held thirty rounds, and by the twenty-fifth one, the pressure in the spring had started to build up, and sliding the bullets into the magazine was getting hard.

Charon finished reassembling his shotgun and restrapped it, resting it on his back. He walked over to Stella and knelt down close to her.

"Try this," he said, pushing the tip of the 10mm round in the clip first, at an angle. "This helps." Following his advice, she loaded the next three rounds with ease. The struggle returned with the final bullet. Charon took it from her and popped it in with no resistance, then handed it back. "If you are in a combat situation, it is not wise to waste time with the last round, especially in such a small caliber weapon." With that, he walked back to his resting place.

Stella put her gun away and leaned her head back against the wall. The cool cement felt good against her sweaty body, even through the cloth.

"How are we going to sleep?" Stella asked, breaking the silence.

"I only require a very minimal amount of sleep," Charon replied. "I will sleep for two hours while you keep watch, and then I will keep watch while you sleep." Stella agreed.

"Are you sure you only need two hours?" she asked.

"Yes." With that, he stretched out, and went to sleep.

The last embers were dying out when he woke up, and Stella was sewing a patch into her jeans.

"You can sleep longer, if you like," she said, not looking up from her needlework.

"No," he said, the bitterness from earlier creeping back into his voice. Stella was startled at his touchiness. It appeared to her that harmless suggestions seemed like major trespasses to him.

She finished up and tied her knot, cutting the excess with her teeth. As she curled up on the cool floor, sleep swept over her much more easily than she expected, and the discomfort from her first night with him in her employ had started to fade.


	9. The Devil's Right Hand

_Ssst sst ssst. Ssst ssst sst. _The narrow maintenance tunnel Stella and Charon had taken refuge in echoed loudly. _Sst sst ssst. Sst ssst sst. _Charon ran his knife against some steel plating he had found. The monotony of the task helped him gather his thoughts and lull his mind back to a calm center. He had been in the employ of Ahzrukhal for almost ninety years, becoming a permanent fixture in the dark corner of the Ninth Circle. He despised the monster that he worked for and, aside from the occasional errand he was sent to run every two months or so, he had no leave of him. His muscle tone was suffering and although he was plenty strong and capable, he was no longer at his peak. When he first came to work for Ahzrukhal, he had dared to hope that maybe someday he could become a part of something that mattered. That he could aid resistance fighters in an uprising or maybe help guard a town of people in need, and although he was on security detail for Underworld, those were not his primary orders. After a decade of wishing he became jaded with his lot in life, and accepted his role as the devil's right hand.

A self-important, inexperienced teenager was not the reprieve he had hoped for. Although he was glad to be free of Ahzrukhal, something about Stella grated his nerves. His understanding of their objectives in the Pitt was blurry and he refrained from asking her about it, not wanting to hear her launch into a monologue about her life and her experiences. Worse, much worse to him than the holders of his contract that abused and mistreated him were the ones that thought they were doing him some kind of favor. The ones that wanted to be involved in his tasks, the ones that had an air of self-righteous superiority, they were the ones that really bothered him. And Stella had all of these elements down to a science.

He was baffled, of course, that she seemed to know nothing about how to survive. She appeared to be stuck with the mentality of a child, her interactions genuine but naïve. As he watched her fumble with the lighter and try to load her weapon, he felt a twinge of pity. Enough to make him soften his demeanor and assist her, but not enough to keep him from wishing that she'd walk onto a mine and somehow a caravanning group or Rivet City security would stumble upon his contract and he would be able to provide the services he was trained for. Watching after a spoiled little girl trying to reconnect with her roots and find her purpose and herself was not something he was prepared for, nor wanted any part of.

Charon stopped his task for a moment, and instinctively gave the area a brief visual sweep. Twice so far he had gotten up and assessed any potential threats in the nearby tunnels, but he had purposefully took a back way to keep them off the radar from larger groups that might be patrolling, like the Brotherhood of Steel. If he was alone he was almost certain they would attack him, but with Stella he wasn't totally sure and couldn't take the risk. No matter how much she bothered him she was still his employer, and his number one consideration above everything else was her safety. Before returning his attention to sharpening his weapon, his eyes rested on her. She slept soundly with her legs drawn up to her, indicating a feeling of security in close quarters. She looked hardly over fifteen, maybe five foot four and probably little over one hundred pounds. Stella stirred and stretched before returning to her coiled position, and Charon returned his eyes to his work.

Thoughts about his future began to swim in his head. He wondered how long this journey would take, and what would become of him after it was completed. The tunnel she was referring to was probably a good two and a half weeks away from their position, and from there it had to be at least at least another two or three weeks to the Pitt. Being very unclear about what they would be doing there, he couldn't make an estimate of how long their stay would be, and then of course the return home would double their time. He guessed that this whole ordeal would take probably three or four months, but what Stella would have him do when they returned was foggy to him. She would probably just sell his contract, and if she maintained her very gullible faith in people and kept her cheery disposition, which was a rare thing to come across, she might try and sell it to a group he was interested in working with. That was the best outlook he could try and imagine, and he settled his thoughts on that.


	10. Unable to Fly

The darkness enveloped Stella as she was pulled from her sleep. Her eyes started to slowly adjust to the black; the only light coming from an occasional spark from Charon sharpening a knife.

"Are you prepared to travel further?" Charon asked, rising and sheathing his knife.

"Yes sir," Stella said, rising and stretching. The pain in her right calf had escalated as she slept, and the muscle had tensed, knotting slightly and making it very difficult to put pressure on her right leg. She gathered her belongings and put on her vest, and looked at Charon. He was staring at her, already ready to go. She walked stiffly, trying to prevent Charon from noticing her weak leg. They walked away from their campsite and headed further into the twisting tunnels.

Twenty minutes into navigating dirty tracks and forgotten maintenance halls, Charon stopped her.

"You're limping."

"Yes," she answered, her chin raised defiantly. She watched the way he walked, able and strong, and she wanted to be like him. If he was hurting, he wouldn't show it. He looked at her for a moment, and she met his stare. He felt a split-second of fury light through him, and he reacted.

"We should go," he said abruptly. He turned on his heel and continued through the railway. Stella was surprised about his reaction, but pleased. She wanted a break, but more than anything she wanted Charon to think that she was actually capable of succeeding, so she kept her mouth closed and walked through the pain.

After another long drought in conversation, they came upon a metro station. Two raiders were keeping watch, one walking along the tops of train cars, and the other pacing along on the mezzanine. Charon turned to Stella.

"Step back and get down," he instructed, and she did as she was told. Crouching down, she took a few paces backward and to the right in order to get behind a derailed train car. Miscalculating her distance from the car, she tripped over its towing hook and fell backwards. The sound of her and her equipment hitting the concrete alerted the raiders.

"Hey! Who's there?" the man on the train shouted, turning toward them. Charon drew his shotgun and pumped it, chambering his round. The man stalked toward them and, reaching the end of the trains, leaned down to look. Charon blasted his face into oblivion. The other raiders, now fully aware of their location, came flooding down the broken escalator from the mezzanine. There were, at the very least, six and they were swarming Charon. Stella began to panic, and ignored his order to stay put. She scrambled to her feet and drew her SMG and walked toward the fight.

Charon was not outnumbered, despite how many there were. Each shot fired from his combat shotgun was a kill shot, and so far he had downed three. One came up behind him, and Charon turned swiftly, kicking him in the stomach. He fell backwards, clutching his waist in agony. At the same time, a female raider was approaching him with a tire iron. Charon shot her in the throat. The man he had kicked began to rise and with his gun out of ammo, Charon grabbed his head and broke his neck in one fell swoop.

Watching this, Stella began to rethink her decision to rush to his aid. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a raider on the mezzanine with a huge weapon, pointing it down toward Charon. He was messing with a large, cylindrical thing, trying to load it into the weapon. She decided to take him out while Charon was preoccupied. She snuck up the escalator on the other side of the tracks, and while he was busy trying to load the weapon, she shot him several times in the back and the back of the neck.

"Gah!" he cried out, falling to his stomach although still alive. He tried to struggle back up to his feet, but she shot him in the back of the head. The thick scent of blood filled the air. As Stella was standing back up, she was knocked back down. Her face skidded on the concrete and the wind was knocked out of her. Her gun slipped out of her hand. She felt a boot under her right side, kicking her to her back. A man with a shaved head stood over her with a baseball bat. He gave her a toothy grin as he raised the bat over his head, and then brought it down against her stomach.

"Oof!" she cried out, crumpling to the fetal position. He laughed maniacally, raising the bat again. Stella closed her eyes and drew her limbs in toward her, hoping that would afford her some protection. Charon's shotgun sounded over her head and blood rained down on her. The metro was suddenly silent as Charon knelt down next to her.

"Why did you move?" he asked. She opened her eyes and tried to talk, but could only cough. He stood suddenly, and walked a few paces away.

"Why did you move?" he screamed out, kicking a trash can. The noise caused Stella to recoil in fear. He walked back toward her and once again knelt down. "Do you realize how close to being killed you came? You jeopardized both of our lives twice! Imbecile!" he snarled. Stella unfurled her arm, and pointed shakily. Charon turned toward the direction she pointed and saw the half-loaded missile launcher. He turned back toward her.

"Give me your hand," he impatiently. She said nothing. He rolled her head in his hands. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was slack-jawed. He cringed. He stepped toward a map of the metro system for a moment, formulating a plan. He ran back to the tunnel where Stella had first alerted the raiders of their presence and grabbed their bags. He stopped to reload his shotgun quickly, and then hurried back to Stella. He slowly scooped her up in his arms, completely taken aback by how light she was. She was an injured bird, unable to fly. He pulled her to him, leaning his head on her chest. Her pulse was slow and light. He rushed toward the exit.

The high noon sun bore down upon Charon as he exited the metro tunnels. He thought he felt Stella squirm against him, although it could have easily been his imagination. He took off in a brisk walk east. It had been years since he had been out in this direction, but he knew the way. He knew right where he was going.

A group of ferals were gnawing at something not far from him. It seemed to him that over the last several years the number of Ghouls going feral had increased drastically, and they were spreading out across the wasteland, large groups even congregating to the surface. This group had yet to notice Stella and he, so he tucked her closely into him in hopes that they might not realize that she was human. When he approached, they rose up and sniffed the air, watching him pass. One hissed noisily and he veered away from them.

Watching his shadow grow along the ground, Charon estimated that it was around four o'clock. He spotted a nearby grouping of rocks and climbed them steadily. Peering over the horizon, he noticed his destination about thirty minutes from his position. He checked Stella's pulse again. It felt as though her heart was just under the surface of her skin, and the beat danced erratically. A bit of panic began to overcome him. He feared for her life. He had wanted to be free of her, but her exact order to him was to help her survive. If she died, it would be as though he disobeyed his order. Those were consequences he couldn't accept.

Charon broke out into a light jog, cradling Stella closely to him to keep from jouncing her about and exaggerating any internal injuries that she might have sustained. She seemed unnaturally warm to him, and it made him uncomfortable. He began to run faster.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Charon came upon the place he had been looking for. It had been a long time, but the makeshift shack that he had used for shelter and recuperation while in Ahzrukhal's service was still standing. He shifted Stella so that she could be held with one arm, and then drew his shotgun. He pushed the door open with the barrel of his gun.

The shack was empty, but there were signs of it being recently occupied. He would have to keep on alert in case whoever had been living here came back. He carried her up the stairs to the loft bedroom, and laid her out on it. He checked her pulse again, and the situation was just as dire as it had been earlier. He sat his pack down on a stand next to the bed and opened it, rummaging through the pocket containing his medical supplies. He laid out a few things he knew he'd need, and sighed. He grabbed a bar of soap he carried with him and walked down the stairs to a sink, washing his hands, and then headed back up the stairs.

Charon removed Stella's boots to help increase her blood flow and noticed that her skin was cold and clammy.

"Shit!" he cried out. Quickly, he unbuttoned her vest and pulled it off. He tried to be gentle with her, but time was now of the essence. If it was, like he suspected, she could be experiencing hypovolemic shock, and any wasted moment could bring it closer to becoming irreversible. Charon was uncomfortable with the next thing he had to do, but he knew it was impossible to get around. He slid her shirt up around her chest and then pulled her arms out of their sleeves. It became clear to him immediately that she had severe internal injuries. He gently lifted her shirt over her head and tossed it aside. He filled an IV bag he carried with him with purified water, and mixed some salt in with it. Sealing it tightly, he shook it until the salt was dissolved, then attached a length of surgical tubing to the bottom of the bag. He unwrapped a needle he had sterilized and twisted it onto the tubing and let the solution run through the tubing until the air had left. Locating a vein on Stella was harder than he expected, but he managed to find and puncture one. He hung the bag up on the railing of the headboard and continued to the next problem.

Her stomach and sides were bruised and, in a few places, cut. He pressed on her ribs, hoping to be able to feel any break in the bones or, if there was severe pain, maybe get a reaction from her. She made no movement at all, and luckily her ribcage still felt intact. There might be slight fractures, but that could be dealt with later.

Charon drew a stimpak from his array of medicines next to him and uncapped it. He pressed around on her stomach, feeling for any knotting or anything that might indicate where she might need the medicine the most. Not feeling any indicators, he jammed it into her stomach. Stella's shock was almost definitely caused by internal bleeding, and there was nothing he could do to help her now. They were too far away from any major settlements to get help from a doctor. All he could do was hope that the saline would help nurse away the shock, and the stim would do what it could to close up the wound causing the bleeding.

He looked up at her face. It was scraped and bloodied. He headed downstairs and filled a bucket with water from the sink. He returned to Stella and opened her bag, finding the fabric she was always cutting bits off. He ripped off another section and dipped it in the water, then ran it across her face. Dried blood, dirt, and grime wiped away easily. He rubbed soap on her wounds to cleanse them and prevent infection and wiped her face clean again.

Charon felt her feet to see if the saline had done any good yet. Nothing had changed. He turned back to her face and pulled one of her eyelids open to check her dilation. Her pupils seemed to not be dilated to an extreme, which brought him relief. He got up and pulled a chair up next to the bed to keep watch on her and her IV. As he sat down, his foot hit her bag and some items tumbled out. He went to return them to their place when he noticed that she was carrying a few books. He picked up the one on the top of the stack, an anthology of poetry. The binding was coming apart and the embossed words on the cover were fading. He opened it gently. The pages were soft from wear and age and many were falling out of the book. He caressed the book. He had always loved to read, and in these pages several of his favorite poets were versed.

Charon opened his own pack and pulled out some food. He ate while keeping an eye on Stella and monitoring her IV bag. When he finished, he noticed it was getting low. He let the liquid pump into her veins as long as he could, and then removed the needle. After he bandaged her arm, he felt her feet again. They had warmed up and the clamminess had dissipated. Progress had indeed been made. He grabbed the blanket that was under her feet and pulled it up to her chest to give her modesty and warmth. Making sure he had done as much for her as he could, he sat back, opened her book and began to read.


End file.
